


Voyager

by Kyndred_Raven (Ravenna_Corvin)



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Drama & Romance, Evolving Tags, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Magic and Science, Prophecy, Romance, Sexual Content, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenna_Corvin/pseuds/Kyndred_Raven
Summary: [Chapter 2 POSTED!] [Escaflowne Continuation][Van/Hitomi]"And so it shall be that a Goddess will descend and walk this realm in mortal form. In Her wisdom, She will find the strongest among men and judge his worth. In Her right hand, She will hold the power to grant the gift of Godhood and immortality to he who rules our race. In Her left, She will wield the power to close the curtain on the life we know. Should She make this choice, our world will burn in undying flame until there is no air left to breathe, no water left to drink, and no life left to forge a future. Oh, great Prince...Find this being, this Wing Goddess. Earn her favor and her blessing and find yourself ruler of all. Displease Her and find yourself sovereign of death." --Words of the Last Prophet





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The story is semi-AU in the sense that much of the lore and history is based on the movie “A Girl in Gaia”, but certain events and place names were taken from the anime. It’s a hybrid, in a way.
> 
> As a breakdown, the story is probably 50% movie-based, 10% anime-based, and 40% of my own original character, lore, history, and world building. I’m a fantasy novelist, so I couldn’t help myself. Plus, the series left so much to be desired and had a lot of gaps that I’ve attempted to fill. 
> 
> Please enjoy your read and leave comments if you like the story so far :) I would love to hear from you guys ^_^

* * *

**Prologue**

......................

* * *

 

.

.

She’d never killed before that night, yet doing so came as naturally to her as breathing.  
  
With her heart racing and adrenaline pumping through her veins, Hitomi slammed the rusted knife into her attacker’s chest over and over again until the man gave a pained croak and collapsed in the dirt. Another lunged at her from behind, knocking her into the knee-deep mud of the swamp. As she turned and elbowed him in the chest, rain pelted her face. Lucky for her. His grip on her slipped just enough to allow her to slide out of his hold. With a grunt, she kicked him in the chin, sending him sprawling backwards. Without wasting a second, she yanked the knife out of the other man's body and dashed forward, slicing upwards in a vicious arc. The blade ripped open the man's shoulder, and as he cried out in pain and agony, she cut across his stomach. Hot blood splashed onto her face and arms. The man gurgled something then fell to join his comrade. 

In the aftermath of her savagery, she stood trembling, her knees and hands shaking violently. Her gut twisted and churned at the sight of red blood mixing like crimson ink with black mud.  A frigid breeze howled through the trees, turning the dirt and gore that covered her body into a thick crust. Looking down at the men she’d just murdered, Hitomi couldn’t summon even a shred of pity or remorse. She’d Seen their deaths nearly a week ago and had been prepared for them. Her memories swam with the feeling of the first man's clammy hands covering her mouth and of his companion's grating laughter as he wound ropes around her wrists and ankles. Swallowing past a thick lump in her throat, Hitomi glanced at her hands. Her green eyes took in the sight of the dried blood caked beneath her torn up nails, and she shuddered with remembrance.

 _Move_ , an ethereal voice whispered in her mind. _You have to move or you will die!_

With Herculean effort, Hitomi managed to spur her body into action. She turned around and ran. Now was not the time to consider the horror of what she'd just done. Later, maybe. When she was safe. If there ever would be a time like that again. Feet pounding against the soggy floor and hand shielding her face from the torrential rain, Hitomi's eyes darted through the tops of trees to check for the presence of dark ravens. With a flash of dread, she caught sight of one just ahead of her, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural intelligence as it sat upon a branch, waiting. Though the rain twisted and pulled on the trees, the bird sat unaffected, its feathers dry and untouched. It would wait as long as needed and would follow her tirelessly until either she could shake it off or she gave in and used magic to destroy it.

Gritting her teeth, Hitomi bit her lip and forced herself to sprint faster, squashing down her fear into a void in the back of her mind. A thousand questions clamored within, yet she had no time for any of them. Right now, what mattered was survival. If she couldn’t get rid of the raven, she would never escape. If she hesitated even for a moment, the men would catch up to her and she would meet a fate worse than death. 

“I see her! Bring her down! Use whatever means necessary!”

The whistling sounds of flying arrows echoed through the forest. Hitomi nearly bit her tongue to stifle a scream when one grazed her arm. The shrieking sound seemed to last an eternity. Her back throbbed, anticipation of feeling an arrow piercing her skin at any moment driving her to madness. She squeezed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, praying that the pain would help her keep her wits about her.

"Keep firing!" 

The bastards wanted her alive, but they wouldn’t hesitate to cripple her if it meant catching her. Hitomi didn’t need to turn around to see her assailants. She’d spent nearly two full days in their camp and at their mercy. Plenty of time to understand that staying with them meant a sure death. 

 _Run! Faster!_  - the voice urged. _You’re close now. So close._

Though the voice was as foreign to her as the woods and marshes around her, she trusted it implicitly. Before she escaped, she’d Seen her destination. A hill up ahead, maybe no more than a mile away. Then a towering rock formation. From there, a climb — treacherous as death. But if she could make it past all of that, she might find shelter from the ravens and perhaps some clarity in this endless chaos. She wanted answers! She needed to understand what was happening, but nothing had become any clearer since the moment she’d awakened on this wretched island. At first, she’d thought everything was a dream. She even allowed herself to believe that she would see her friends again. But, instead of familiar faces, men had been waiting for her, soldiers dressed in onyx armor with spiked helmets and demonic face masks. They shouted in a language she couldn’t recognize, but their intentions had become clear all too quickly.

_Don’t think of such things now! Focus!_

The farther Hitomi ran, the more her strength faltered. She hadn’t eaten in nearly three days and couldn’t fathom what it was that kept her going. Fear? Hope? The instinct to live? While she thought of this, she crested a hill, her eyes narrowing when she caught sight of a peculiar rock formation in the distance. It resembled a bird spreading its wings. Relieved, she bent over her knees, lungs burning and breaths coming in swift harsh pants. It had been too long since she’d run like this. She coughed and sputtered, the coppery tang of blood in her mouth a harsh reminder that she had no time to waste resting. 

_Look up, Goddess!_

The all too familiar fluttering of feathers above her sent goosebumps sandpapering down Hitomi's arms. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her stomach tightened, knotting into tangles of terror. The raven from earlier glided through the air, circling just above her. Still there. Still following. Ever patient and undaunted. The rain still had no effect on it, and the gleam in its eye warned her of her coming doom. Behind her, the men's voices grew in volume. They were gaining on her. Frustrated and exhausted, Hitomi tilted back her head and screamed. Was there nothing she could do? Was she so helpless that she could do nothing other than run in this desperate situation?

No. She couldn't die like this. Not now that she'd been given a second chance at life. She would never allow a stupid bird and a bunch of soldiers to take her so easily. She'd made a promise -- a _vow!_  

For a moment, a burst of molten rage surged through her. Her muscles tensed, vision narrowing on the bird. A ringing filled her ears until she could hear nothing but the fluttering of those accursed wings.

_Don’t!_

The bird went rigid, letting out a caw of distress before its body stretched outward and exploded in a shower of blood and black feathers. Something warm sprayed onto her face. Blood from the bird? Or was it rain? 

_You fool! I told you not to —_

The voice faded into nothingness. Whatever momentary satisfaction Hitomi might have felt over the death of the creature disappeared in an instant. Black streaks swam across her vision, a ticklish sensation warming the skin beneath her nose. Instinctively, she brought up a hand to feel for source, only to see that her fingers came away coated in blood. Her head exploded in agony, as though her skull was being crushed between two boulders. Her breath caught in her throat, knees giving way. Her body fell like a puppet without strings.

_That power is not meant for you! Keep using it and you **will** die!_

"I...had...to..." Hitomi ground out, trying to control her shaking. Despite her protests, though, the voice was right. This was much worse than last time.

_Get up! You have to make it to the gate! It’s the only way you’ll be able to find the Dragon and fulfill your destiny._

Hearing more shouts behind her, Hitomi forced herself to keep moving. She dragged her logic in to take the place of her fear. She had to stay calm. If she allowed herself to panic, she'd be caught. This was just like pushing herself at a competition. No more than that. The men behind her were other sprinters, and the voice in her head was her coach. Pushing herself to her limits was nothing new. Just like all those times, giving up was not an option. Taking a deep steadying breath, Hitomi dashed forward, imagining that the rocks beneath her feet were starting blocks on the track.

The pitch black darkness didn’t scare her. Somehow, her feet knew exactly where to go. She cleared her mind of how far away the rock formation stood and how long it might take to get there. Only the rhythm of her feet hitting the ground mattered now. She couldn’t stop, not even if her heart threatened to explode with exhaustion. The voice in her head kept talking, but she ignored it, too.

By the time she made it down the hill and stood before the rocks, the sun began to rise over the horizon. The formation loomed over her like a colossal giant from a fairy tale, its top seeming to stretch into the very clouds.

 _Now climb_.  _Climb!_

“You’ve got to be joking,” Hitomi breathed.

_Do it or die._

Steeling her resolve, Hitomi began picking out handholds and outcroppings she could use to hoist herself up. The rocks looked smooth but felt scratchy against her raw and bleeding palms. She winced, but didn’t stop, once again reminding herself that to stop would mean certain capture. Again, she forced herself to tune out everything except the rhythm of the climb, though doing so was much harder than when she was running. Each time she looked down, the ground grew smaller and smaller until her limbs began to shake with terror.

How much farther? How much longer?

In her mind, she tried to picture Van’s face, to focus on the thought of seeing him again. Though the voice hadn’t explained who or what the Dragon was, Hitomi knew it had to be him. Even when her palms began to leave trails of blood across the rocks and when tears blurred her vision and leaked down her cheeks from the pain in her body, she clung to the image of him, to the last time she ever saw his ruby eyes.

Her foot suddenly slipped and she screamed when she felt herself falling. By some miracle, she managed to grab onto a projecting bit of stone and steady herself. She glanced at the hand bearing the brunt of her weight, her eyes narrowing on the long thin scar trailing down her wrist. That's right. Her promise. Her vow. That mattered more than anything else. Pressing her lips together, Hitomi growled out a curse and pulled herself up.

 _There!_ \- the voice shouted. _Look!_

Hitomi’s eyes flickered to the right. Relief flooded her. At last! The cave she’d Seen in her dreams. Scrambling along the uneven edge of stone, she stepped into the murky darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she saw nothing of interest except a few animal bones scattered along the cavern floor. The smell of wet stone and mold made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. Outside, the rain continued pouring down, the sound muted within the walls of stone.

“What is this?” she snapped. “This was supposed to be — ”

 _Patience, Wing Goddess_ \- the voice admonished. _The gate will open soon and only once._

Paranoid, Hitomi looked behind her. “They’ll catch up to me. I don’t have a lot of time…”

_You know what to do, don’t you?_

Hitomi was about to protest that she had no clue what the voice was talking about when an image flashed before her. Her racing thoughts slowed to a dull roar. Heartbeat quickening, she breathed in raggedly as knowledge flowed through her. Without any sort of guidance, she stepped toward the far wall of the cavern and placed her hand on an outcropping of moss covered stone. Her fingers ran over the slimy plants without hesitation, forming a complex symbol on their surface. A faint glow traced the path of her fingertips until something that looked like a rune appeared before her. Instantly, Hitomi’s body felt numb and heavy.

_Focus on the Dragon, Goddess. Even now, he searches for you._

“You said not to use the magic…”

_In this case, you must. If you survive it, as the Prophecy foretells, you will meet the Dragon and reshape this world once more at his side._

Hitomi’s hand faltered. “Reshape the world? You mean…my coming here will start another war?”

 _It has already started. You are the Source, Goddess. You descend only when a force greater than humanity is needed to move this dying world forward._  
  
“I don’t want that,” she whispered, her lips trembling and head shaking back and forth. “Not again. I don’t want to see anyone else die…”

_Death is a part of life._

“No!" she shouted, pulling back her hand. She whirled around, searching for the source of the voice, wanting more than anything to shout directly at it. As expected, she found nothing -- only bare stone. Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she bowed her head. "I thought I was here to see Van again…that’s all I want…to be with him…”

_Your purpose is greater than your emotions, Goddess. But if the Dragon is the one you choose to fight for you, then —_

“No. I won’t let him do that again…he might get hurt...he might die...I can't...I won't...”

_He will fight whether he has your blessing or not. But remember, without your help, he and all of Gaia will fall into shadow._

“I don’t want war…please…can’t I just…”

_You have no choice and nothing to return to in your world of illusion. You must choose a champion and bear the karma of war upon your wings._

“Isn’t there anything else…I’ll do anything…just please…not Van…not another war…”

_There is one other whom you may choose to bear your crest and champion your cause, but you must find that person by your own power._

Hitomi’s hand shook over the symbol in the stone. “I…don’t…”

_Choose now, Goddess. Step into this world and fulfill your destiny or fade into nothingness as you chose to do in your world._

Fear, doubt, and terror choking off her air and searing through her lungs, Hitomi squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand firmly against the stone. A bright light enveloped her, so intense that it seared through her eyelids. She heard herself scream. The last image in her mind was the face of the one man she loved —

— and the one man destiny said that she would lose to war.


	2. Chapter 1 - Daedarus: The Badlands

**Chapter 1**

**Daedarus: The Badlands**

* * *

..........

* * *

 

.

.

.

.

One of the soldiers asked Van a question, but he didn’t hear it. His eyes narrowed as he peered through the hazy oranges and yellows of the setting sun, taking in the final rays of dying light. He adjusted the fur cloak around his shoulders, preparing himself for the vicious bite of the coming cold. With his senses sharp and his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword, he examined the surrounding landscape.

Again, someone spoke to him, and again, Van ignored them. His mens’ voices were inquisitive but calm. Whatever they had to say likely had to do with their own insecurities, and he had little time for such trivial matters now. His jaw clenched; his mind raced. He shifted his weight between his feet, checking the ties of his weapons and armor for what felt like the hundredth time that night. A stray breeze rustled his shoulder-length dark hair.

He leaned into it, wishing more than anything that he could simply spread his wings and search for their target from the sky. The wind called to him with a voice only those of the Dragonkin could hear -- a temptress stroking her fingers through his hair, finding the gaps in his armor, and beckoning him to join her among the clouds. He rolled his shoulders, focusing his attention on the feel of solid earth beneath his boots.

“Your Majesty,” a voice murmured beside him, cutting through his concentration. Van tensed when a heavy hand settled on his shoulder. He recognized the stoic presence and rumbling baritone of his second in command.

“Not now, Gaius,” he said, stepping away from the grizzled warrior.

“I must insist, Your Majesty.”

Van spared him an impatient sideways look. His irritation wavered. The man looked as weary and harrowed as Van felt. Gaius’s one good eye stared out at him from beneath an unruly mop of auburn hair. His leathery skin wrapped tightly around high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Scarred mouth set in a thin line, he looked ready for an argument. Van recognized the expression. The soldier wore it often when he disagreed with one of the King’s decisions.

“I know what you would ask, and I still have no answer for you.”

“Then…”

“She is here,” Van said, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. His brow furrowed. “I can feel her presence. This is where she will descend.” How could he explain the sensation to someone not of his bloodline? After the Wing Goddess had disappeared the first time, Van realized that he'd always been able to sense her as a part of the world, like an ever-present song or hum of the wind. 

“With all due respect, Sire. We’ve searched the entire valley,” Gaius frowned. “If we go any farther north, we will run straight into Daedarus’ military outposts. It will be difficult to explain what the King of Fanelia is doing in a foreign nation without sanction...”

He continued speaking, but Van tuned him out once more. The temptress wind sighed against his ear, caressing his cheek with ghostly tendrils and tugging his attention away from the soldier’s complaints. Icy currents beckoned, and his body throbbed with the need to seek out the sky. Perhaps just this once he could give in and search from above, while there was still light to see by. With a strong tug, his logic rebelled against his yearning. He couldn’t leave his men behind. Not with nightfall so close at hand and not in the Badlands. He trusted their abilities, but should something happen to them, he would inevitably blame himself.

“…could be any day, month, or year. How can you be certain that it will happen now? The Prophecy never spoke of —”

“Gaius,” Van snapped. The soldier fell silent. Just as Van could read the man’s expressions, the warrior could read even the most subtle of meanings behind his King’s tone of voice.

“Forgive my impertinence, Sire.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, Van stared up at the gently floating clouds, serene and peaceful. Thinking back to the dream that spurred this campaign nearly three weeks past, he wondered how much longer peace might hold out below those passive clouds. Negotiations with Daedarus showed no promise of improvement. Though Queen Millerna did her best to push the country’s leader, Azriel, into a corner, the ruthless monarch held his ground. He fortified his borders and continued to grow his army, heedless of the fear and mistrust that such actions provoked in a land still healing from a terrible war.

Freid had isolated itself from any outside influence, its young ruler washing his hands of any involvement in political alliances. Van could respect Duke Chid's wish to rebuild his nation and preserve its culture, yet he could not condone his willful ignorance. Even Adom, now reconstructed and a home for displaced peoples of all beast races, kept a watchful eye over its militant neighbor, refusing to allow its citizens to be shackled into chains of slavery as they’d once been.

Van shifted his weight between his feet again. His fingers ran over the ties of his armor and the buckles of his sword belt. The action was so second nature now that he hardly noticed himself performing it. Over a decade of peace had allowed him to free his mind from constant vigilance, but the recent Prophecy proclaimed by one of Freid’s last remaining Seers had thrown the recovering continent into chaos once more. Every monarch, noble, and politician of any significance had been steadily placing all of their resources into a desperate search for the Wing Goddess, hoping to win her over to their selfish cause. There could be no doubt that obtaining her blessing and her power would provide any leader with leverage and prestige. Should Van succeed in bringing her to his side once more, Fanelia would be untouchable.

Yet, that was far from what he wanted. As a monarch and as the last of his bloodline, he should have wanted her power for the sake of his country. But all he could see when he thought of her was the beautiful and selfless young woman that had changed his world so many years ago. She worried and cared for him. Not as a King or as the pilot of the legendary Escaflowne, but as a friend. Such relationships were few and far between for a man of his position, and in return for everything she’d done for all of them during the war, he owed her his protection and his life.

The corner of his mouth tipped downward. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. No matter how much time it took, he would find her and shelter her beneath his wings. Perhaps he could even keep the entire situation a secret and avoid unnecessary conflict. Secrecy would simplify everything. Not that any of this was easy. Their search had proved futile in the past two weeks. The Badlands were a maze of black hills, dead trees, and dunes of dark sand. He knew they were headed in the right direction, but with only a gut feeling to go on, he and his men might as well have been lost. Should the Daedarus military come across them —

Van flinched. Strained as their relations were, he was putting all of Fanelia at risk with this campaign.

Again, the wind called to him. Again, he resisted. After watching the last rays of sunlight vanish and give way to night, he turned from his vigil to face his men. They sat around their makeshift camp, huddled in their fur cloaks and shivering. Some of them had set up their tents, but none dared to start a fire. Flames would ward off the cold but could attract unwanted attention. He thought they might have complained of the discomfort by now, but the determination in their eyes had yet to waver. They trusted their King to protect them, and that realization hardened Van’s resolve to stay by their side.

“All of you volunteered to come with Us,” he told them, automatically adjusting to more formal speech. “This search is progressing slower than anticipated. General Gaius has expressed concern. If you have something to say, if you have misgivings, We would hear them.”

Close to twenty men sat stone still, looking back at him with unshakable loyalty. He waited, but none spoke up. Touched by their conviction, his voice softened to a degree.

“Take watches in turn. Rest as much as possible. Run through your supplies and gear. Tomorrow, our search resumes.” Van straightened his back and raised his chin. “We will find the Goddess. Make no mistake.”

“We are with you, Your Highness!” one of the soldiers said, his voice quavering with passion. Never a man of many words, Van nodded then turned back to his watch. He took a seat on a nearby boulder, distancing himself from the camp.

Familiar footfalls approached.

“If you had something to say, Gaius, you should have done so when I asked for your opinion.”

The man walked to stand in front of his King, crossing his muscled forearms over his chest. His scarred mouth twisted into a frown. “I will take the first watch. You must rest, Your Majesty.”

“I’m alright. No need for concern.”

“You have not slept in nearly two days.”

“I do not have the same needs as the others,” Van replied, staring off into the distance.

Gaius’ frown deepened. His eyes followed Van's. After a moment, he rubbed at his eye in a gesture of annoyance. “I will take the first watch,” he declared.

“It’s alright. You need more rest than I do.”

“Your Highness,” Gaius said, his tone hardening. “I will take the first watch.”

Van looked to his second, raising an eyebrow. Hidden meaning lurked behind the man’s words. Standing up, Van struggled with uncertainty. “Are you…certain?”

“I am. We all believe in you, Sire. Myself, more than most. I’ve seen you watching the skies. It may be bold of me to say, but I understand your frustration. None will see you if you go past the edge of the dunes.”

Still, Van hesitated. He admired much about this man. Having known him for so long, he’d found himself often comparing him to his old sword master, Balgus. Ever calm. Ever collected. No matter the situation, the soldier rarely showed emotion. A strong, dependable man and a skilled and experienced soldier and general. Though Van was confident in his own skill on the field and felt that he’d matured greatly over the past decade, he still believed himself to be a young king — too young to rule a budding and fragile nation like Fanelia. Where Gaius was the strategos, the logic-driven leader, and rational thinker, Van was the passionate, sometimes rash, and over-confident ruler.

“Gaius,” he murmured. “I find myself conflicted.”

Such a thing was not easy to admit. The words sounded clumsy and awkward on his lips. He’d never spoken of his inner doubt with anyone aside from Hitomi.

“About what, Sire?”

Van pursed his lips together then moved away from the soldier. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. “The Prophecy, the state of perpetual turmoil between the countries of this land. I find myself worrying for Fanelia’s future. Having the Wing Goddess at our side would give us an advantage, but…”

“You love her,” the man said without preamble. Van’s head snapped to his General, his heartbeat quickening. Cold sweat broke out across his skin. “Please, Sire, do not look at me as though I have betrayed you. I am an old man, and despite having only one eye, I am not blind.”

Van turned back to the horizon, frustrated. He disliked feeling vulnerable in front of anyone, and Gaius’ words stabbed at his pride.

“Please forgive my bluntness, Sire. I did not mean to speak out of turn. However, if it is not presumptuous to say, I consider myself your friend as well as your General.” He gave a sigh and sat down on the nearby boulder. “I know of the Goddess. During the war, I heard many tales of her courage and her spirit. I know you were close. It is difficult to imagine that your friendship did not deepen into something more.”

“Do not speak so lightly of such things,” Van warned. “She was…is…important to me." He smiled ruefully. "Friendship? Love? Are such words adequate to describe what I feel? I don’t understand it myself. When she vanished, I believed it was fate. I never expected her to stay. What kind of bond could a mortal truly share with a Goddess?”

“You are not an ordinary man, Sire.”

“My bloodline has little to do with anything.” He relaxed his shoulders, running a hand through his hair. “Many love her, Gaius. To search for her in secret like this, to wish to keep her selfishly by my side…I fear that by doing so, I am —”

Suddenly, both men scrambled to attention. Gaius drew his sword and ran to his King’s side, standing in front of him protectively. Van sidestepped around him, his eyes growing wide. In the distance, a pillar of light blazed down from the sky. Van thought he felt his heart stop beating. A moment as he considered the implications of that pillar and another as he remembered the only time he'd ever seen one like it. The wind whispered in his ears, telling him all he wished to know and more. The air rang out with the silent song of the Wing Goddess.

“Sire…is that…?”

"It is..." 

"It could be a trap."

The King couldn’t answer. Before Gaius could utter another word, he was running, and before he could think his actions through, he was soaring through the air, the beating of his massive wings causing sand to scatter in a torrent around him. Logic and reason stayed behind, holding chains that the familiar light had broken. He rose high then folded his wings inward and dove to the ground to pick up speed. The wind cut at his face, frigid as ice, but he hardly cared. His thoughts emptied, emotions turning all misgivings to lifeless stone.

As he approached, the light faded and vanished. In the darkness, he could barely make out a shape lying on the ground below. A small pained noise escaped him when he saw Hitomi’s battered form. He landed and rushed to her side, calling her name, taking her in his arms and shaking her as gently as his anguish would allow. Her green eyes looked up at him without recognition.

“The…magic…the…magic…” she repeated over and over again. “War…is coming…”

Dimly, he realized she was struggling to breathe. But what could he do to help her? Feeling as though the ground heaved and spun beneath him, he looked around with wide eyes. Someone. Anyone. There had to be someone who could help her. A healer? But where? Back at camp? Yes! Their medic, Jonas. He might be able to…

…but, no. No one could see her like this. She was a Goddess — a symbol of power and fate! No one but him and a few trusted friends could know how mortal she truly was. With that thought, a wave of protectiveness washed over him. Lifting her against him, he held her shuddering form close to his chest. He took her hand in his, feeling himself begin to tremble with each one of her labored breaths.

What had happened? What could have caused this? Her clothes were torn to shreds as though a beast had taken its claws to them. Beneath layers of dried mud, he saw bruises and scratches covering her from head to toe. Panicking, he gingerly touched his hands to her wounds, praying that the alarming amount of blood on her skin and clothes wasn’t her own. He pressed a hand to a deep gash on her thigh, feeling sick when hot red liquid gushed between his fingers.

He hardly heard the sound of hooves behind him, and when he did, adrenaline pushed him to his feet. He drew his sword and whirled around, ready to fight, when he recognized Gaius’s horse and armor. As the man approached, Van tried to hide Hitomi from his view. But, Gaius knew him too well not to recognize the stricken expression on his King’s face.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice gruff.

Van’s teeth clenched so hard together they hurt.

“Your Majesty, is that the Goddess? What's wrong? Why is she so still?”

Dazed and panicked, Van looked down with alarm. At some point, Hitomi had stopped moving. Her chest no longer rose and fell. The warmth of her skin began to fade. Time slowed to a standstill. Gaius rushed over to him, running his hands over the girl's torn clothes and various cuts and scratches. Van saw his lips move but couldn’t hear the words coming from them. All went silent, as though someone had stuffed wads of cotton into his ears. Hitomi hung limp in his hold, the feel of her dead weight almost surreal. The lines of suffering had faded from her delicate face, replaced by a halcyon expression of tranquility.

This wasn’t how things were meant to be.

At long last, they were meant to be reunited.

He was going to see her again. To speak with her. To hold her and tell her everything he hadn’t been able to all those years ago.

“…Majesty…”

He was going to show her his rebuilt homeland — take her on a walk to see the new castle. He wanted to show her how much of a difference she had made in his life and the lives of countless others. Together, they were going to prove that Prophecies meant nothing and that fate could be changed with enough willpower.

“…Sire…”

More than anything, he was going to _protect_ her. He was going to keep her by his side and never let go.

But, now…she was so still, quiet and relaxed in sleep. That’s what it was. Sleep. If he just shook her, she would awaken. She was always so tired. He’d seen her fall asleep in the most odd of places sometimes.

“…wake up…” he murmured. “Hitomi.”

“Lord Van!” The hoarse shout pierced through Van’s murky thoughts. Gaius’s hands grasped his shoulders, shaking him violently. “Come to your senses. We must take her to camp immediately.”

“Camp,” Van repeated. Reality slammed into him with such force that that his knees went weak. “No. Not camp. They can’t see her like this. No one must — ”

“Your Majesty, if we don’t do something about the wound in her leg, she’ll bleed to death.” The General reached out and pressed his fingers against Hitomi’s neck. “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “She’ll be alright. She just needs rest and healing.”

“Seen it before?” Van echoed, still dizzy and numb.

“With you, Sire,” Gaius said, his gaze hardening. “When you’ve exhausted yourself with magic. Your face was pale like this and the veins around your eyes and cheeks looked just as prominent.”

“Impossible,” Van shook his head. “Magic?” Hitomi had never displayed such a power. Something suddenly caught his attention, a scrap of cloth tied around Hitomi’s wrist. Gaius seemed to follow his train of thought.

He examined the cloth and paled when he saw the symbol there. “That’s Prince Azriel’s crest, Sire,” he frowned. “But what could it…”

“I will fly to Freid,” Van declared. “I will find a healer there where no one will know of her presence.”

“She’ll be dead before you make it half way.” Gaius scowled. “Do you not trust your men, Sire? Do you question their loyalty even now?”

Van hesitated to answer that. He wasn’t sure he trusted Gaius with this knowledge, and he had been like family to him for years.

“Alright,” he said at length. “Follow me.” With that, he took to the skies. As he flew towards camp and possible danger, Van swore that he would never forget the horror of how cold and lifeless Hitomi’s body felt in his arms.

 

 

 

 


	3. Daedarus: Capital City of Nafarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, I've created a rather intricate map of Gaia that will be used extensively in this story. You may find a picture of it on my DeviantArt if you wish to follow along with the events and where in the world they take place: http://kyndredraven.deviantart.com/art/Escaflowne-Complete-Map-of-the-Explored-Gaia-644234141

**Chapter 2**  
**Daedarus: Capital City of Nafarus**

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Azriel opened his eyes and inhaled the sweet heady scent of Golden Saffron incense. His fingers ran over smooth satin sheets beneath him as he allowed himself to feel his own lungs again. He lay still for an unknown span of time, adjusting to the sensations of his own skin rather than the body of his summoned raven. Each Journey took its toll. Though a fire blazed in several braziers around the room, he shivered. His skin, moist with sweat from the exertion of using too much magic, gleamed pale and white in the flickering shadows.

He let out a long ragged breath, focusing on regaining control of his limbs and thoughts. Assessing his body, he moved his fingers and arched his back. Arms and legs rather than feathered wings, hands with well manicured nails rather than crooked scaly talons, and soft lips rather than a sharp black beak. Sounds of men shouting, rain pounding into the ground, and howling winds echoed in his ears. Using the incense to stay calm and focused, Azriel scrambled to pull together a set of chaotic images to recall how he’d died. The memories and pain of the raven’s demise lingered, as did the sensation of foreign magic ripping him limb from limb.

Despite the agony, Azriel clung to the final image in the bird's recollections: a woman's face — _fierce and determined_ — with haunting eyes the color of the finest emeralds. Mud and filth could not hide her unusual beauty, and the blood of her enemies covering her hands and face made for a breathtaking sight. Just imagining what it would be like to feel her presence in person sent a spark of anticipation through him. 

“Did you find what you were searching for?” a grating voice asked him.

Azriel pushed himself up into a sitting position, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a loose portion of the bed sheets. Peering through the darkness of the dimly lit chamber, sharp violet eyes settled the figure of an old man sitting with his legs crossed on a plain black rug. He wore a set of loose auburn robes marked with the crest of the monks of Freid's Temple of Fortuna. A chain trailed from his ankle to a metal orb nailed into the wall. Azriel hated how the improvised object marred the beauty of the room. Every time he saw the imperfection, he bristled inwardly.

No matter. Soon, he would be rid of it.

“I did,” he nodded, masking the direction of his dark thoughts. After a blissful stretch, Azriel moved to the edge of his large bed, shifting between masses of ornate pillows, leather-bound books, and glittering treasures like a panther stalking its prey through a sea of grass. His lean and well muscled body felt uncomfortably stiff from the hours he’d spent in sleep. His palms smoothed down his arms and torso, their owner basking in the feeling of his soft and unmarked skin. When he stood, the chill of the marble floor bit into the soles of his bare feet, and he pursed his lips in distaste.

“Then the Journey was a success,” the old man mumbled. “What did you See?”

Azriel paused, wondering if he should bother telling the old man anything that might jeopardize his plans. He examined the chain tying him to the wall and decided that the wretch wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Besides, the man’s desperate expression excited him. Delighted at the prospect of causing his prisoner more guilt, Azriel rubbed a finger over his chin and gently tugged at the corner of his lips, considering what details he should share. As he picked out just the right words, he pulled a blue silk robe from a nearby dresser, draped it over his exposed skin, then tucked a curved dagger with an emerald hilt in the shape of a snake’s head into the thick sash at his waist. His long-fingered hands nestled into robe's the wide sleeves.

“You were right in your prediction,” Azriel said. “Everything happened just as you foretold. The Goddess has descended to our realm. Soon, the Mystic Moon will once more appear in our sky.” He ran his fingers through his flowing black hair. The feel of its silky texture served to calm the fire in his blood. Magic lingered in his veins, pumping through him with each beat of his heart. The sensation was exhilarating and painful at the same time. He took a moment to savor the knowledge that, had he remained out of his body for any longer, he might have never been able to return. Coming so close to death and cheating it electrified his senses and left him breathless with elation. 

“Yet the Goddess is free,” the prisoner pointed out. “Will you kill me now that you have what you want?”

Despite his bravado, the old man’s voice faltered. Azriel smiled pleasantly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His heart skipped a beat at the blossoming misery on his prisoner’s face. His fingers stroked the snake’s head hilt of his dagger, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Kill you? What a terrible assumption.” He raised an eyebrow in mock offense. “Have I harmed you since your arrival? Have I not been a hospitable host?" He gestured to the room around him. "Food, shelter, protection. All I’ve asked in return is your cooperation.”

The prisoner pointed to the chain around his ankle. “Do you treat all of your guests to this kind of hospitality?”

“Only when they try to escape and break their oath. The shackle is there for your own protection. You do understand that leaving this city means death. There is a price on your head.”

“If I die, so be it. Perhaps in doing so I will atone for my sins.”

Azriel’s smile widened. “I can assist you with that, if you wish. All you have to do is continue helping guide this land to its rightful future.”

“I have nothing more to tell you about the Goddess,” the prisoner cautioned. “I cannot assist you any more than I have.”

Azriel was not convinced — not when he saw the man’s eyes flicker to the dagger at his waist. Smile firmly in place, Azriel walked to the nearest wall, where a thick cord of silver and blue rope hung from the ceiling. When he pulled on it, a tiny bell rang. Not more than a few seconds later, a finely dressed servant appeared in the doorway. He did not meet Azriel’s eyes, instead falling immediately to his knees.

“Your Eminence,” he murmured. “How may I serve thee?”

“A hot bath,” Azriel answered. “The floor is cold.”

At those words, the servant glanced up to look at the hem of his master’s robes. His face turned an amusing shade of green at the sight of bare feet. He’d forgotten to set out a pair of shoes and knew the consequences of his master’s displeasure.

“Please, f-forgive my clumsiness, Your Eminence,” he rushed to say.

“Fetch the bath,” Azriel smirked, “then, bring Aerith to me.” He continued stroking his chin and subtly playing with the corner of his mouth, annoyed at the pinpricks of a stubble that broke the soft skin. 

“Yes, Your Eminence. Right away.” Without waiting for further instruction, the servant fled from the room as though a dragon snapped at his heels. Azriel let out a small sigh then walked back over to his prisoner.

“Now, then. I think it best that you and I explore the matter of the prophecy further. After all, you did make it just for me.”

“I already told you. There is nothing else that I know, and until the Wing Goddess is with us, there is nothing more I can do.”

“It is only a matter of time before she seeks me out. I am the rightful heir to the dormant power of this land.”

A knock at the doorway interrupted their brief conversation. A young woman stood there, her head bowed. Long black hair with a texture like wax tumbled over her shoulders. She wore a set of ornate leather armor with a pair of short swords buckled at her hips. He noted the strings of fresh blood on the surface of her armor with interest.

“You called for me,” she said.

“Aerith. I have a task for you.”

The young woman looked up, hawk-like violet eyes looking straight into his own without fear or apprehension. In all of Daedarus, she was the only person who could do such a thing and keep her head.

“Of course, brother. Name it, and it shall be done.”

“You will take your silver haired half breed general and march to our northern outpost in the Badlands. Two companies should be sufficient.”

“What is our objective?” she asked, her voice low and neutral.

“A little bird thinks she has escaped her fate. We must show her the error of her ways.”

“Has it happened, then?”

“It has.” His voice lowered dangerously. “You will find a group of men in unmarked armor camping in our territory. Take what is mine and return it to me.” His smile widened. “There is a warrior among them. The last Dragon King. You will know him by his noble bearing. Take him alive. Kill the others.”

“As you command, brother,” Aerith bowed. Servants rushed in carrying a wide ceramic tub and buckets of steaming hot water. Azriel disrobed and sank into the bath, inhaling the fresh scent of rose oils and exotic salts.

“One more thing.” His eyes traveled to the forgetful servant from earlier. He gave his sister a pointed look. Without a word, Aerith grabbed the man by the back of his tunic and yanked him upwards. He cried out in panic, color draining from his face. Movements sharp and well practiced, she drew one of the swords at her hip and pressed it to the servant’s neck. He blubbered and begged, struggling against the young woman’s iron grip.

“Not here,” Azriel commanded softly. “You will ruin the tile.” His fingers pressed against his chin, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t make it swift,” he concluded, “but waste no more time than necessary. I leave it to your discretion.”

Aerith bowed her head once more, turned on her heel, and left the room, dragging the screaming servant behind her. The others remained kneeling, not sparing him a glance. Doing so would have meant equal or worse punishment.

“Leave,” Azriel waved his hand. He did not watch them scramble to follow his orders. Instead, he looked to the ceiling, where a detailed mural displayed images of treacherous seas and dragons in vivid color. He thought of the battle ahead and of the sacrifices he would gladly make to win it. 

“The Dragon King will not let the Goddess go without a fight,” the old man warned from his place in the corner of the room. “He will rally his allies and rise against you.”

“Is that a prediction, prophet?” Azriel asked, amused. "And here I thought you were determined not to help me." When the man didn’t answer him, he submerged his body deeper into the hot water. “It matters little if he chooses to fight. He is weak, and his allies are weaker. I will make him kneel before me, and I will _break_ him.” One of his perfectly filed fingernails pressed painfully against the corner of his lips. “He will make a fine addition to my half breed general. Can you imagine it? The last of the Dragonkin at my beck and call.”

“Your father once had such ambitions,” the old man countered. “He is dead now.”

Azriel’s heart twisted in his chest. The magic in his blood caught fire in the blink of an eye, boiling rage making his hands tremble. He surged out of the water and turned to the prophet, ready to tear him apart for insulting the memory of his mighty father, then remembered that he needed him alive for a while longer. He forced himself to calm the storm within his shaking body, gritting his teeth and sinking back into the bath.

“The infamous fervid temper of the Tramaris family line,” the prophet chuckled. It was the first time Azriel heard him make such a sound. “It will be your downfall, like your ancestors before you.”

“You know nothing of it.” The walls of the chamber shook; the air grew thick and heavy. The old man’s laughter sputtered and died as he clutched at his throat. Azriel’s magic twisted and writhed, beckoning him to watch as the life left his prisoner’s eyes. But, no. Not yet. It was too soon. There was much to be done and too little time to accomplish his goals. If he was to succeed, he would need the prophet alive. Just when he sensed the old man’s life fading, he released him. Ignoring his violent coughing and pained moaning, Azriel submerged himself in the water until it covered his head.

All sound faded to a dull echo. His eyelids fell closed, body relaxing as the perfumed waters drained him of his weariness and exhaustion.

 _Soon, Father_ \- he vowed. _Soon our destiny shall be fulfilled._

 

 


End file.
